Rescue Me - part 3

Long Days, Hard Nights

Rated M for slash.

All characters created and owned by Stephenie Meyer.

**This chapter continues on from the end of the Christmas outtake**

~xxXxx~

Emmett’s POV

Walking into the small motel, I made enquiries at the desk before heading up the stairs to the 2^nd floor. As I stepped out of the stairwell into the hallway, I saw a tall guy standing by a door. 

On closer inspection, it was the door I needed.

As I approached, he held out his hand to stop me before I could reach it.

“Wrong floor, man.”

I looked at him, confused.

“I’m looking for Jasper Whitlock. I’m-“

“Listen to me, buddy - no Press allowed on this floor. Please leave before I’m forced to throw you out.”

I stared at him and tried again.

“You don’t understand, dude. He sent for me. Jasper sent for me. I have passes... see?” I fished the backstage passes out of my flight bag and showed them to him.

He stiffened. “Who are you?”

“Emmett McCarty.”

I watched his whole demeanour change as he relaxed and handed back the passes.

“Sorry, man. Jasper gave me that envelope to post to you. Go on in. Just... go easy on him.”

I thought that was an odd thing to say, but I just wanted to see Jasper. I opened the door into a small, rather dark and stale smelling room. It was strewn with newspapers and empty food cartons and I stepped inside gingerly, seeing him lying on the bed.

He didn’t acknowledge my entrance.

“Jas?”

“Emmett?” The voice in the gloom registered disbelief, as if he didn’t truly believe it was me.

“Yeah, Jas, it’s me. What’s going on? Why is there a guy guarding this floor? Are you fighting off groupies now?”

His laugh was brittle.

I crossed the room to him, stepping over the debris strewn across the worn, dingy carpet, needing to see him after our time apart.

“I got on the first plane I could, Jas. When I got your note I was so happy...”

Kneeling down by the bed, I went to stroke his hair and see his beautiful face once again. I almost recoiled when I finally got my first look at him.

His face was swollen and purple, the cheekbone obviously broken. His nose was taped up to reset, his left eye puffed shut. I swallowed hard, my hand hovering, wanting to touch him so badly but scared of causing him more pain.

“What-“

He held up his hand before painfully pushing himself up to a sitting position; clearly he had more injuries that I couldn’t see.

“Shouldn’t you still be in hospital?” My voice was little more than a croak.

“I discharged myself. I’m holed up here until the papers stop callin’. The rest of the tour is cancelled; I don’t even know if there’ll even be a band to go back to after this.”

“What? Why? Why did this happen to you? Was it a...” I took a breath, “homophobic attack?”

He shook his head, wincing at the slight movement.

“No one knows I’m gay, not even the band, although they’ve noticed I don’t take my share of the available talent offered to me.” He sighed, a hand flying to his ribs, face twisting into a grimace. 

He paused for a second until the shadow of pain left his face.

“It was a husband who took exception to the way I smiled at his wife on stage. You’ve seen me, I play to the crowd. Turned out he didn’t like it, so he slipped outside with a couple of friends and waited for me. This...” his hands motioned to his face and torso, “this is the result. So no, I don’t think he knew I was gay, do you?”

I raked my hand through my hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that. I just don’t know what to make of all this; it’s a hell of a shock to find you all busted up. How bad is it? Be honest.”

“My ribs are cracked from the kickin’ – they’ll be the slowest to heal. The docs don’t know yet if my eye is damaged due to all the swellin’ from my broken cheekbone. This sucks all the more because we got spotted by a talent scout at our last gig, and there’s talk of a recordin’ contract in the offin’.” He voice held a tremor. “Who’s goin’ to want to sign us up now? The guys will need a new singer if they want to carry on without me.”

“They won’t wait?” I was incredulous that his band mates would go on without him. Technically it was his band; he had brought them all together. He sipped from a bottle of water beside the bed.

“They say they will. Paul on the door there is very loyal. He went and got the tickets and stuff I sent you. Didn’t even ask why I was sendin’ them. He’s a good guy.” He drifted off into silence again, his gaze downcast until finally he raised his one good eye to meet mine. The look he gave me made me want to kiss life back into that broken body of his.

His voice was husky and thick.

“Thanks for comin’, Emmett. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t.”

It wouldn’t do to tell him just how fast I had packed and enquired about the next available flight out. Or neither how I had drummed my fingers during the flight, anxious and eager to be with him again; nor would it do any good to admit just how much I’d missed him.

This... this was a shock. I could feel unfamiliar anger rise within me, my bubbling fury aimed at the assholes that had read an innocent scene so wrongly and let it result in this atrocity.  He watched the emotion ripple through me, waiting for my response and the reassurance that I wouldn’t get right back on the next plane home.

I reached out a shaky hand to cup his uninjured cheek, sensing his vulnerability. Leaning into him, I brought my face level with his.

“Of course I came, Jas. I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again – we made no promises to each other at Christmas, but I hoped...”

I heard the catch in his throat, his voice an urgent whisper.

“I can’t show the guys how hard this is. I have to try and keep goin’, stay upbeat, but it’s so hard. The local papers reported the incident which is why I’m holed up here for a while. We’re not a big name yet and I don’t want pictures of my injuries plastered across the local rag. That’s not the kind of publicity the Confederates need. We’re about to sign a recordin’ contract! I just need someone...” His voice cracked. “I need support behind closed doors when I can just be myself.”

“If you spend all your time locked away with me, won’t the guys guess about you? Unless...”

He stared at me then. “What?”

“Unless you want me to help you pretend to be straight. I get that, I mean you are the front man, there to look hot and seduce the crowd.”

“Not so hot now.” He choked out a painful laugh. “You want me to come clean with the guys? Tell them about us?”

I inhaled sharply.

“Us? What are we, Jas?” He swallowed with a dry click as I continued. “I help you with all this and then what? You get better and go sign your megabucks deal, become a huge star, and I go back to my little life, dreaming of the time when Jas Whitlock of the Confederates only had eyes for me?”

“You’re angry. I get that.” His voice was toneless. I felt surprisingly calm.

“No, but be honest with me, Jas. If this,” I gesticulated to his distorted face and busted ribs, “hadn’t happened, would you ever have called me again? You know where I live, yet I know virtually nothing about you apart from the truck you drive.”

“I missed you.” The words were uttered so low as to be almost inaudible, and I almost didn’t catch them.  “Leavin’ you at Christmas was much harder than I thought it would be. I wanted to talk to you so often. When I finally got to see Mom and Alice, I told them I’d met someone. They were so excited and really disappointed I didn’t have a picture of you to show them.”

I gaped at him.

“You told your folks about me?”

He grinned, the best he could, still beautiful despite it all.

“Yeah; told them I planned to come find you again once the tour was done, if you’d have me. I kicked myself for not takin’ your number when I had the chance. I thought about you a lot.” His gaze dropped, seemingly through embarrassment, but it was difficult to tell under the bruising. 

“So, uhm, are you seein’ anyone?”

I placed a finger lightly beneath his chin and raised his face to mine.

“You tell me.”

His eye held a hopeful expression.

“I might be permanently scarred, the doctors say. The cheek wound is deep. Would you want me if I were damaged goods?”

I smiled in absolute certainty.

“I just want you in my life, Jas, no matter what.”

Pushing myself up, I walked to the window.

“It’s so dark in here; we’re on the second floor so there’s no chance of being seen.” I threw open the curtains, letting in some sunlight, before sitting back down on the bed. His head was turned away from me.

“Jas? It’s going to be okay.”

His breath left him in a strangled gasp, his body sagging forward into mine, head resting on my shoulder. All I did was stroke his dirty, unkempt hair, unable to tame its unruly disarray. All I could see of his face was a mask of red and purple; his feelings of shame at his appearance emanated from him. He mumbled into my shirt.

 “Don’t look at me, Emm. I’m hideous.” I wasn’t having any of it.

“Hey - look at me. Please.” Against his will he complied slowly, lifting his head from my shoulder and tilting it up a fraction. “We need to get you up, showered, and fed. So come with me.”

I stood up and held out my hands, coaxing him to his feet. Raiding my suitcase for my wash bag, I led him through to the small bathroom and closed the door. Raising my hands to his shirt, I pulled it away from his body to unfasten the buttons with extreme care, handling him like porcelain. Once opened, it slid down his arms and fell to the floor. I forced myself not to react at the sight of the welts on his chest and stomach; shades of red, purple and black daubed across his skin, marring the once perfect canvas.

He awkwardly crossed his arms to hide them but it caused him pain, and with a low hiss he lowered them to his sides again.

Running my finger down his shoulder, I wanted to tell him that his beauty would re-emerge, that it would, in time, overcome this horror, but I couldn’t. The truth was, no matter how badly hurt he was now, no matter how bruised and battered the exterior, Jasper was still beautiful to me; his inner light shone too bright for anyone to ever extinguish it.  

No one had the right to even try.

He made no move to carry on undressing, so I unbuckled his belt before loosening his jeans. Sliding them down, I disentangled his feet from the bunched up denim. He didn’t resist, and by the time I bent to remove his socks I realised that he had totally surrendered to me. He wobbled precariously on one foot, his hand holding my arm for balance as lastly, I slid down his underwear, letting him step out of them and kick them away.

Running a comfortably hot shower, I urged him in to stand beneath the spitting jets from the old chrome shower head. The water soaked his hair, darkening it further; he made no move to wash himself. Swiftly shedding my own clothes, I stepped in behind him, clicking open the shampoo bottle and pouring a generous amount into my palm. I massaged it through his curls, rubbing comforting circles with my thumbs as I did so. When my nails lightly scratched his scalp he moaned, his brain sending relaxation messages to his exhausted body.  My fingers continued to play with the wet strands, tugging gently, until I was sure his hair was squeaky clean. The hot water rained down, rinsing away the shampoo suds, and I set to work with a soft sponge and a musky shower gel. I took my time, washing him all over with delicate strokes, squeezing soapy water all over his chest and back, letting it cleanse his discoloured, abused body. It was when I tried to wash under his arms that I realised the extent of his injuries – his hands could reach no higher than my waist and so I lifted each arm to finish the job.  While I washed his calves and feet, he leant on me for support; I finished up by washing between his legs.

 It was when I put down the sponge and moved to switch off the water that I saw tears mixed in with the water dripping from his hair. Wishing I could do more, I held him as close as I dared, rocking him in my arms, and together we stood under the hissing water as he finally let go, utterly and inexplicably ashamed to admit the sheer amount of pain he had hidden from everyone since the attack. His sobs made my heart ache and I smoothed and kissed his wet hair, silently vowing that no one would ever touch him again and live to tell the tale.

Unable to deny the pull I felt a moment longer, I supported his head tenderly and brushed my lips against his, feeling him respond as best he could.

No matter the circumstances that had brought us together, no matter the ugly reality of what he had faced, the mere touch of his lips made my breathing catch and my heart pound with happiness.

When his shaking eased, I helped him out of the tub and switched off the water. The old pipes groaned in protest but eased to a gradual slow drip as the water shut off. Reaching for a towel, I patted him dry, careful as a first time mother with her newborn. Squeezing the excess water from his hair, I dabbed his face before briskly towelling myself dry. There was no way he was putting those clothes back on again – a trip to the laundromat was called for. I made a mental note to take his sour, sweat-soaked bed linen too and ask the motel staff for more; I suspected, judging by the state of the room, that he hadn’t let anyone in since he arrived.

Once he was dressed in some slightly fresher clothing, I decided on the next stage of my master plan.

“What exactly have you been eating?” I looked around at the takeout cartons scattered all over floor, some still part full. He looked sheepish.

“Just food from the local takeout; noodles and soft stuff I don’t need to chew.”

“How about some soup or an omelette - soft food, but a little better for you? There must be somewhere around here that does that.”

“Paul’s been getting me the basics. He’s a good guy. Ask him; he’ll know what’s in the area.”

I turned round, checking the room. “No cooking facilities here, that’s for sure. I’ll go out and see what I can find, okay?”

He nodded, catching my hand as I made for the door.

“Thanks, Emm.” His words were rough; I just nodded, determined to be strong for him.

“I should go downstairs and check in – get myself a room or else I’m sleeping in this hallway tonight.”

He shifted, not looking at me.

“You won’t stay with me.” He sounded defeated, and I hated it. I didn’t ever want him to feel like that.

“Jas, this is a single room and there’s no way we can both fit in that bed. Let me ask if they have a double; I can move your stuff in with me, yeah?”

“As long as you’re there.” I heard the relief in those few words as he sank back against the flat, ineffectual pillow.

Paul was where I had left him and I drew him away from the door.

“I want to get him something decent to eat. Is there anywhere that does takeout besides the Peking Palace?”

“There’s not much around here. There’s a store a couple of blocks away but that’s about it.” He looked uncomfortable. “How is he, Emmett? He won’t say anything – it’s like they stole my friend when they kicked the stuffing out of him. I can’t lie to you, I’m worried.”

“You and me both; okay, I need to check in and get us a bigger room.”

He looked at me shrewdly.

“You’re sticking around?”

I looked him square in the eye.

“He needs me – I’m not going anywhere.”

Paul just nodded, slapping me on the shoulder as I headed for the stairs.

Returning to the front desk, I asked the girl there if there were any twin rooms available on the second floor, explaining that I was here to look after my injured friend. She gave me the key to a room a few doors down from Jas’ current one and I handed over my details to pay. I was about to walk away when I had a thought.

“Is there anywhere I can cook a proper meal? My friend needs some good food, but he can’t go out at the moment for reasons I can’t go into here.”

She took me aside and showed me a small kitchen in the back where the staff could make a snack on their breaks.

“No one will say anything. If they do, tell ‘em Darla said it was okay.” She smiled, revealing teeth that hinted at a coffee and nicotine addiction. 

“Thanks, that’s really decent of you, Darla. Look, I’ll clean up the room once I move my friend into the other one. Have you got some trash bags? It’s the least I can do.”

She seemed surprised at my question, but fetched me a couple without comment. I guessed that most patrons left the place in differing states of disarray without any trace of guilt. Well, that wasn’t me. My momma had brought me up better than that.

As I walked back toward the stairs, I heard her call out.

“Your friend’s a lucky guy.”

I threw her a smile and headed up to my new room.

Unlocking the door, I poked my head in and took a quick look around. Satisfied, I headed back to find Jas where I had left him, sleeping. Looking at him, I saw him wince in his sleep as he tried to turn over, the pain waking him. Looking panicked, his face flooded with relief when he saw me, and I had to wonder if his dreams had been of waking up alone once again. Leaning in, I helped him gently to his feet, walking him to the new room and settling him onto one of the beds.

Returning to the room, I filled a garbage sack with cartons and wrappers and set it down outside the door for collection. Next, I stripped the linen from the bed and left it ready for collection. Lastly, I went around the room, picking up his bits and pieces, packing them into his bags. When I was sure I had everything, I took both his bags and my own case to the new room before heading out to the store.

~xxXxx~

“This is awesome, Emm.” He slowly chewed the Spanish omelette, washing it down with some bottled water.

“It’s not much, but homemade is better for you than takeout.”

I had told him about my getting the use of the motel kitchen for the duration of our stay and his mouth had dropped open.

“Obviously I need to clean up straightaway so the other workers don’t find my dirty pans around the place, but Darla seemed to think it’d be okay for me to use it so long as I don’t take anything of theirs from the fridge.”

Jas was sitting up on the bed, his plate on a lap tray as I lifted each forkful to his mouth. I asked him the question I had been holding back.

“How long since the attack, Jas?”

“A week.” He chewed the next bite and swallowed. “I wrote to you when I left the hospital.”

“So how have you been managing?”

I had already guessed he hadn’t been showering; most likely he’d used the tiny sink to wash wherever he could reach.

“Paul has helped me with food. He’s been brilliant. He gave me some pillows to prop up my arms so I could eat easier. I don’t think he fancied feedin’ me.” He grinned and I saw a flash of my Jas, his damp hair flopping sexily over his face.

Then he went quiet for the longest moment.

“Emm, I want you to know I didn’t call you to have you come nurse me. I called you because I feel so... isolated. I can’t go out yet in case I’m seen and it harms our chances of the band gettin’ that contract. I just want to get better and not have mom find out and worry about all this.” 

He fell silent, his twisting hands on the bedcovers revealing his discomfort at this disclosure. His voice was quiet now. “After it happened, all I could think about was you and how I wished you were here with me.”

He risked a look at me under his hair, clearly nervous at how this admission would be received.

“So – what are we going to do to pass the hours? Play checkers with your meds? You do have meds don’t you?”

I hadn’t seen any bottles.

I heard a chuckle.

“Yeah; Paul usually dishes them out to stop me taking them too often. They wear off so fast that I’d probably take far more than I should.”

“So it’s been just you and him here? Where are the rest of the guys?”

“Gone home for a while; there’s no point them hangin’ around when there’s nothin’ they can do here. Everythin’s on hold right now.”

“I guess.”

I fed him the last couple of mouthfuls before taking the plate and heading off downstairs to clean up.

That night, lying in my bed, I heard his gasps of pain each time he moved in his sleep. I longed to hold him, to reassure him that I was close by, but I knew there was no way we could share a bed until his injuries improved. Once, I did climb out and walk over to him, stroking his forehead like my momma use to do to me when I couldn’t sleep. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before his breathing evened, and I returned to bed to lie awake in case he needed me.

~xxXxx~

Jas’ days were a mix of eating, meds and sleep. When his meds kicked in he was able to nap for a time. When he woke he was refreshed and we could then play card games and swap stories.

The trouble was, he still wouldn’t go outside, and after a few days I was starting to notice a little cabin fever setting in. My first clue came when the hand of cards I dealt him flew across the room in a fit of temper. His wrist flick sent them clattering against the wall; I said nothing as I went to retrieve them, gathering them up, the game over.

“What are you doin’?” His voice was sharp. “We were playin’.”

I looked at him steadily.

“I guess I thought the game was over.”

“What? I had a crap hand. You can’t take a joke? Come on, deal again.”

I hesitated, and he reacted angrily.

“What? What? You won’t deal? What is your problem, Emmett? Am I too much hassle for you? Not what you signed up for? Well fuck off then – fuck off. I don’t need you, I can manage. I should never have called you.”

Not wanting to show how his words stung and add fuel to the fire, I stood and took a deep breath.

“I’m going to the store for supplies. Put on some shades and come with me. No one will recognise you in your regular clothes – they won’t be expecting to see you. Please, Jas...”

His voice bordered on a snarl.

“Stop pushin’! I’m not ready!”

I sighed and made for the door.

“Okay; I’ll be back in a while.”

The pack of cards hit the wall by my head, the action making him cry out.

I didn’t look back.

I forced myself to walk calmly around the block, stopping for some groceries as I had promised. I knew he was going crazy in that room and I wanted him to come outside, but he staunchly refused. While I understood, it was time he overcame his reticence. 

He was sleeping when I returned and for once I was glad. Spread out on the fresh linen he slept comfortably whereas I was on edge, awakening at each groan. He might not have been grateful at times, but I would never have left him.

A week passed and he grew more cantankerous with each passing day. No distractions worked anymore; he simply ate, slept and snarled the days away. Now that his ribs were healing he was able to do more for himself; I pulled back, allowing him to feed and shower himself. It was a slow process for him, but I refused to offer help, knowing he would throw it back in my face.

Those days were lonely for me, so close to the man I desired, but unable to reach out to him. 

But all that changed a couple of nights later.

~xxXxx~